Terra Marie Jan 12

Run toward the light
Deny it’s fading.
Almost grab it, but just miss
It goes down, First to red
Away to purple and blue like the
Circles under my eyes that show how little sleep I’ve gotten
Fade to a lengthy black and it’s
Called night.

In my mind, night symbolizes bad things
Dead as night,
Things go bump in the night,
Missing each other like ships in the night,
Thieves in the night,
“A one-night stand?”
Lady of the night,
“Oh my God! How can you sleep at night?”

It is universally known that monsters come out at night
They lurk in the closets of kids everywhere
But closet monsters with their reaching claws, twelve eyes, four arms,
And purple fur aren’t as scary as you.
In the dark corner of my room by the lamp that was my mom’s
When she was growing up
Did you put your hands on her, too?

I look up and
Coming towards me
a gangrene riddled zombie
Arms outstretched, a child whining for candy
Hot mouth on my skin, saliva in my face
Tongue like tentacles wrapping around me and
I fall into that dark, unfeeling place

Night is when bad things happen to good people
When too-young children lose their too-young innocence,
I try to explain to my mom the things you did
Why I’m chasing light
She says I’m lying because you’re her father
She knows you, and you wouldn’t do that to her
I tell her it was night-time she says,
“Maybe it was too dark to see who it was.”

“It wasn’t, mom!” I scream.
Hot pokers in the form of hot tears sear my red cheeks
When she turns away from me

It was dark, that night
But not so dark that I didn’t know you that night,
That night when you took me and crushed me
And I didn’t have a choice.

But it was you.

A gangrene zombie hiding in dark corners of my bedroom.

Poem for an abused friend of mine.  You can overcome anything, R.  You're amazing.
Kaity Dec 2017

They call us survivors

I call us leftovers

They tell us we're heroes and deserve better than the hand life dealt us.

They use us as examples of inspiration and make shiny metaphors out of our trauma.


But they never look at you long enough to see that you flinch when they reach, with greedy hands, towards you because to look at you too long would mean seeing the hand wrapped around your throat.

They are never around long enough to know that panic sets in while you shower and scrub at your skin until it's raw and bruised.

Sticking around would mean knowing that you were touched by Poison Ivy and they've heard it's contagious!

They don't watch when you're seventeen and crying into his shoulder, asking him to tell you he loves you, just so you can sleep because that would mean that maybe..you aren't that heroic afterall.

If they got too close they would see that you aren't surviving so much as submitting to being alive.

They sit on the edge of their seats gobbling up details about your so-called courageous story, eating up the nitty-gritty details because they know it will end in some form of you rises from the ashes.

But YOU didn't know that you'd be rising from the ashes when he was lighting his match.

When you tell them, you're still in therapy learning to breathe and count to ten, they have to realize bandaids don't fix gaping wounds, so they stop listening, notice the crows feet and crooked teeth,  and turn away because suddenly...you look like a victim

Kaity Nov 2017

When my rapist texted me after 3 years of silence
My body shattered
I've spent all this time picking up the pieces glueing them into place like a puzzle that doesn't quite fit
You swing at me with a hammer
Chipping away at me like the paint I chipped off the deck with my grandpa summers before I met you.
I am the opposite of forgiveness
Sharp teeth, howls of rage, and jagged edges
If our bodies turned red where unwanted fingers like claws, carved into us, I would look like I was bleeding out
I don't know when I became a space to be filled
I have made you as ghost story as possible
Using you only as a joke at my own behalf or cautionary tale.
When you're only a story I can close at night and pull out when I want to, I can pretend you've left no scars on this forsaken body of mine
But when you text me out of no where, I find you've taken my autonomy once again.
I find that I'm once again stuck between your teeth.
Every probing text is gasoline that I swallow with a smile.
You think I turn to ice because I have frozen.
I am ice turned fire
And I'll burn the whole damn world with me if I have to.
My body is constantly in fight or flight, rigid with the possibility of springing into action.
Never quite relaxed enough to forget past sins made against me.
When people ask me, with sneers on their faces, if every adams apple I see reminds me of a fist, I tell them no. Because one of the faces that haunts me has deep brown eyes and soft skin, like my own.
She hid claws under royal blue painted nails and cinnamon scented gum.

libby Nov 2017

he takes one more gulp
finishing the bottle
whiskey dripping from his lips
he looks at you
you are frozen
as he drunkenly stands up
he sharply wipes his upper lip
and then licks them
your eyes look left
and then right
searching for your younger sister
she is nowhere to be seen
as the home you shared
was now unsafe
you don’t move
as he takes a step toward you
paralyzed under his watch
you start to sweat
he swears under his breath
and you are beyond nervous now
you hear his belt unbuckle
before you see it drop to the floor
your mind tells you to run
but your feet do not move
his eyes squint at you
as he says, “don’t you think it’s past your bedtime?”
and you silently sit still
praying to God that he will turn around
he does not
in fact, he starts moving in your direction
faster now
and you squirm in your seat
afraid of what comes next
you look into his black, soulless eyes
hoping he will see your innocence
he does not
his zipper is now undone
and his grimy fingers
roughly jerking at your skirt
you are afraid
but the numbness sets in
and your eyes become heavy

i’m not sure how i’m going to end this
it feels more like a chapter book than a poem
is that allowed?? haha
Ashwin Kumar Oct 2017

You have no idea
What it's like, to be a woman
Everyday is a baptism by fire
As she walks on the street
Hundred hands appear
From nowhere, as if conjured
By a deft flick
Of a magician's wand
A magician who sends chills
Down the length of her spine
Chills that surpass even those
On a wintry night in Antarctica
Leaving her frozen
Till every bone stands still
As she is stripped of her dignity
Reduced to a shadow of her self

She strains every sinew in her throat
As she sends out a distress signal
Which fails to be intercepted
As the people look on
Some with fear
Some with sheer indifference
Some with a perverse interest
But none answer the call of duty
The call which is as basic
As the need for oxygen

You have no idea
What it's like, to be a woman
As she heads home
Seeking much needed solace
She is instead upbraided
For wearing a short skirt
For walking alone in the night
For not being a lady

As she fails to get support
From the family she holds dear
As a shipwreck survivor
Barely floating in freezing waters
Clings on to that piece of wood
Her self-esteem nosedives
Like that fateful Air India flight
That crashed at Mangalore
And shifts the blame onto herself
For not understanding the men
Who've brought her to this state
And succumbs to Stockholm Syndrome
Completing a vicious circle
Leaving men and the patriarchy winners
Winners who deserve the title
As much as a student
Who clears his trimesters
Using bits of paper
Tucked neatly inside his shoes

To all men who think light of the issues faced by women in everyday life
Firzaana Mohamed Apr 2017

It was March 2007,
   An exact decade
The land was barren
   My bare body laid
The air was in drought
   Helplessness rioted and raid
Humanity was in scarcity
   My debt soul sinfully paid
   For its innocence
He was inside me, collecting dues
I was nine, crying and loud
He was forty one, enjoying and proud.

My money ran out,
August 2011.

April 2017
Debts never truly forgotten,
It was after work Saturday when
My debts finally finished paying
A vase left him bleeding

No longer loud and helpless.


I decided that it was about time i opened with this childhood treachery. I've always been to scared to let go, to truly visit this earth as it's guest. See the thing is my entire life lived so far has made me feel captive. Captured in my own skin, the skin i blame for my vulnerability, but no more. I was without once, but not anymore. Remember, no one can ever break your soul without your consent. Fight it, fight your own mind, fight your own skin for it's own freedom. You wouldn't regret it I promise.
Lilly O Oct 2017

My eyes are closed
My snores take up the air
Your hand slides up my
Thigh and your fingers
Run through my hair
My eyes stay shut
And your hands roam
My cries stay silent
As you are in my room
Your hands venture deeper
Than any had gone
My eyes watered and
I tried to yawn
My cry turned to a sob
As I realized I could not
Tell my mom
As I looked in the mirror
That next day
I realized bad things
Seemed to always come my way
My eyes welled with tears
And I pulled out my hair
Screaming but still
Knowing no one
Really cared.

Very personal poem. Unfortunately sexual abuse happens to a lot of people. Remember to stay strong.
Brianna Love Oct 2017

She is a girl
full of dreams,
affectionate, adoring,
easy to please.
A full life ahead,
so it seems....

Living and laughing, dancing a dream,
loving life, to its means.
Sixteen and beautiful
full of passion and grace,
she hungered for the day
she could take her place.

Hopes and dreams
of a full life ahead,
she never saw it coming
she never had any dread.
Daytime turned to darkness
joy to grief,
laughter to tears
with no sign of relief.

Beaten and wounded
youth taken away,
she longed for the day
she could escape this place.
Day’s turned to weeks
weeks turned to years,
she kept smiling and living
but joy had been replaced with fear.

Protecting the ones she loved
from the outcome of her fate,
she pushed it deep down inside
and hide it at any rate.
Laughing and living a girl in her teens
living life to the fullest, happy future dreams,
then found a place, safely deep within
to hide from the torture of this cruel evil sin.

Living and laughing, dancing a dream,
loving life, to its means.
Sixteen and beautiful
full of passion and grace,
she hungered for the day
she could take her place……

All abuse damages the heart and soul, it puts out a light and the scars you forever hold.
Make a stand, report if you see or think a child is being abused, you could save a life!
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